


The Good Kind of Hurt

by whenawriter



Series: The Good Kind of Hurt [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Jake pines for Rich, Light Angst, M/M, but what's new, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenawriter/pseuds/whenawriter
Summary: Many things cause pain. Sometimes, though, the stressor causes a pain that feels so good, yet hurts all the same.It makes no sense, but can’t be any more real.





	The Good Kind of Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anentirerice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anentirerice/gifts).



> Well shit, I didn't think I'd ever actually find myself with the nerve to actually post something with this account. Nevertheless, happy birthday, buddy.

 Jake had accepted that many things in life were bound to not make sense. The thought had plagued him all of his life - and continued to do so - yet he refused to accept the idea as his own. Some things contradicted themselves, and while he believed it was _true,_ that didn’t particularly make it _okay._ He found that examples could most often be found in human emotion. That these contradictions drove people - _ideas -_ forward, and that they could be faked, given practice. 

So he tried it. And liked it. And continued to repeat the cycle until one day, seemingly at the same time, he found that he had to fake further feelings and reactions _and_ that he never had to fake positive emotion again. He had never encountered the feeling before; the feeling of being split in two, like half of his heart wanted to do one thing yet the other wanted to do the opposite, and _both were right._ It tore him in two all at once, and he froze - backpack over his shoulder, eyes trained on _him._  

Now, he’d never considered himself clear-cut gay, or bi, or pan or straight or ace or _whatever._ He identified as pan for the sake of others but frankly couldn’t care less what he was called; he was allowed to like who he liked, whenever he did. The entire system of ‘labels for equality and inclusion’ idea was charming and heartwarming to him - a system where everyone could feel included and recognized for what they are. Yet still, it hurt him, because he _never_ felt like he fit into any of those pristine, clear, all-encompassing labels. If they wanted to include Jake in their categorizing, fine. If not, he was somewhat content with floating in his sea of acceptance forever. But all of a sudden, he wanted _him_ to accept him too. He wanted _him_ to look at him and take him for what he was, label or none. He simultaneously cared and _craved to not care_ about what this boy thought, and _it fucking hurt._

Days to weeks to months pass on, and Jake’s hardly even _begun_ to understand what he was feeling and, more importantly, _how._ _How it made sense, how he could be so in pain but somehow absolutely love it and hate it at the same time?_ So he sat and he thought.

He thought about the boy. 

He was short. _Adorably_ short. His voice was loud and bright, filling the room with every ounce of positivity that Jake was _sure_ could never fit into a body so small. It held a faint lisp - a sound that, to most of the public, might be annoying, but was absolute music to Jake’s ears whenever he heard it. He was strong, and was always there when Jake needed someone to lean on - all physically _and_ mentally. His eyes were a brown so light and full of life that Jake _swore to God_ that they bordered on a more orange hue. They always held an unspeakable amount of emotion, usually held tight behind a thin veil of faked excitement or relaxation. Jake often wished he could ease every negative emotion behind those bright eyes.

Lying on his bed, at the time, he turned so his face was buried in the pillow and screamed. _Everything about that boy made him want to both cry and giggle._ _Everything about the boy hurt._ It hurt that they were close every day, but it hurt even more when they were apart. It hurt whenever he wanted to talk to the other, but was afraid he’d screw up.

But when one day the boy came up to Jake with a determined fire in his eyes and a smile so wide he could see his tooth gap, when he looked right up at him, height difference and all, and offered his hand to shake, _when he finally spoke first,_ everything painful seemed to stop and go into overdrive at the same time.

_“Hi, I’m Rich! Rich Goranski. I really like that colorful button on your jacket - the pan flag, right?”_

Everything about the boy - about _Rich -_ hit him all at once. He smiled a shy, shaky smile and shook Rich’s hand. “J-Jake. Jake Dillinger.”

Everything hurt. His heart grew too big for his chest, his legs wobbled, and his thoughts both raced and froze. _It hurt._

_But holy shit, he loved it._


End file.
